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608 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1976
Americans cannot perceive - even the most decent among us - the suffering caused by the United States air war in Indochina, and how huge are the graveyards we have created there. To a reporter recently returned from Vietnam, it often seems that much of our fury and fear is reserved for busing, abortion, mugging and liberation of some kind. Our deepest emotions are wired to baseball players.Emerson had worked as a freelance journalist in Saigon in the mid 1950s, when it appeared to her, even after the French war, as "a soft, plump, clean place of greens and yellows." Returning some fourteen years later, at the height of the American war, the first thing she noticed was that all the trees were gone, chopped down to widen the boulevards, to allow for the movement of armored vehicles. She wrote articles for the New York Times about the war and the people, and they are filled with bitterness.
Sometimes it seemed that Luong was changing--yet not changing--and I worried how he might be affected by working for Americans. Yet I never worried so much that I let him go.After the war, when she was safely back in the U.S., Emerson tried to find out what had happened to Luong, but she had no address for him. She hadn't thought she'd need one, since he'd always received his mail at the Saigon office of the Times.